Sophie’s Steakhouse, Soho

I like my meat like I like my men. Tender.

The Vibe:

Fancy entrance, glitzy bar, low key dining area and stripped back tables – this place gets more butch as you delve deeper. Which means, as a female diner, I could have easily stayed perched up on the barstools under a chandelier sipping on Skinny Bitches all damn day.

But I didn’t – and I’m thankful – for the steakhouse itself is a gastronomic fist pump for meat lovers. By the time the waiter had flexed his extraordinary knowledge of both the cut and weight of the steaks, my date was putty in his hand and I was quietly confident if I couldn’t win him over with chat, the food would help.

As the place is new, it wasn’t packed, which meant we could dine side by side on a table for four, facing the open kitchens and people watching until our own chatter picked up pace.

The Order:

Steak you fool. Porterhouse for us. Ask the waiter to advise you on the right weight so as to leave feeling happy, not ill. Bearnaise sauce on the side, beef-dripping fries to share and a nod to greenery with some black garlic steamed broccoli. Start with something light like the sea bass carpaccio (literal heaven) and gravadlax. If it’s lunch, a glass of good red. If dinner, do the pre-drinks at the bar thing first, then split a bottle.

The Game:

In the evening it’s pure swag so dress up and start on martinis. One excellent date night touch is the bar hidden below the restaurant. Skip dessert – you’ll kill the momentum – and head down to Jack Solomon’s Club, a dimly lit, jazz-filled basement cocktail bar which you can access through a vacant deli. Hard to find, so massive cool credentials for suggesting it.

The Faults:

Just needs more people in the day – nothing a daytime brunch offer won’t fix.

Sex Factor:

3 at lunch. 4 at dinner.

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